


Until the Sun stops turning

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, Dworin Week, Fluff, Gold Sickness, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Strawberries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things never change over the decades, like Thorin's love for strawberries. Unfortunately, others do....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the day one prompt of Dworin week, seasons.

Dwalin was greeted by a sigh of relief when he entered Thorin’s chambers.

“I think my head is going to burst if I try to cram any more history or tactical moves into it. You have no idea how welcome a sight you are,” Thorin said.

Dwalin grinned, certain that Thorin was about to cheer up even more. “I brought you something. Close your eyes.”

Thorin did as told. Dwalin took the small basket from behind his back, held it in front of Thorin and wafted the air over it towards Thorin. “Guess.”

Thorin sniffed. “Strawberries! I’d say preserves... no... that jam from Dale! But it smells almost too fresh...”

“Open your mouth!” Dwalin took one of the strawberries and gently pushed it into Thorin’s mouth. 

Thorin gasped and opened his eyes. “Fresh strawberries! But... but it’s much too early! The snow on the slopes barely just melted. Where did you get these?”

“That’s my little secret,” Dwalin said smugly, knowing he would give in the second Thorin asked him again.

“Please?” Thorin asked, batting his eyebrows in a way that made Dwalin think he had been taking lessons from Dís.

“I may have bribed Sólva to grow them in her greenhouses. With some warmth and lots of her special lights, it’s not too difficult to grow them in winter.”

“Really?” Thorin asked. “Why did you...”

Dwalin laughed. “I know how much you love strawberries and that you’d have your exams this spring. And despite what Balin likes to say, I do know how to plan ahead. Sólva couldn’t grow too many because she of course needs the greenhouses for more important things, but there will be enough to get you a few more baskets over the next few weeks. And when your exams are over, there will hopefully be strawberries in the woods outside.”

Thorin jumped up and wrapped his arms around Dwalin in a tight hug. “I don’t even know how to thank you,” he whispered.

“Oh, just get me some fresh grapes next spring when it’s time for my exams,” Dwalin joked, knowing exactly how impossible that would be.

Thorin smacked him in the arm. “Don’t you think you might be getting a little demanding?”

“Never! I’d probably be happy enough if you just took a few minutes off the new duties you’ll have then and came by to talk to me every once in a while when it’s my turn.”

“Of course I will,” Thorin replied. “I know what it’s like to yearn for a break when studying. There’s only so much a head can take in at a time.”

“If you’d like, I could give you a headrub. I really wouldn’t want your handsome head to burst.” The last part came out rather more earnestly than Dwalin had intended.

Thorin looked at him curiously and Dwalin had to swallow, his ears burning. He did not want to have this conversation while Thorin was busy preparing for his exams.

“That would be great,” Thorin merely said after a moment, settling down at his desk again. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes as Dwalin began running the tips of his fingers over Thorin’s scalp in circles.

 

“So how did it go?” Dwalin asked as they walked away from the royal apartments. “Now that your family has had a day to celebrate with you, I want all the details.”

“No you don’t,” Thorin replied, grinning at Dwalin in a way that made Dwalin’s heart skip a beat. “They interrogated me for hours and made me talk about every skirmish, political decision and law since Durin I first opened his eyes, about every remote dwarven village with all its trade connections and councils. It was so much worse than Balin said his was. There was _nothing_ they didn’t ask. If I told you everything, we would still be talking about it tomorrow. I am not going to relive that experience, I want to enjoy my freedom while it lasts.”

“I am so, so doomed,” Dwalin groaned. “There is no way I will get all of that into my head even if I start studying right now.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get the test for a second son of a sideline of the line of Durin, not the one for the second in line to the throne. I knew it was going to be tough, but I hadn’t quite imagined just how detailed the questions would be.”

“Still, you did wonderfully, didn’t you?” Dwalin said, throwing an arm around Thorin’s shoulders as they reached to gates of Erebor. Thorin had already told him his results right after the exam, before he had gone to celebrate with his immediate family. “And now let’s hunt strawberries! I already found a great spot but if you want to take the time to find a good batch yourself, we can do that to. It’s all your choice today.”

“Let’s go to the spot you already found,” Thorin decided. “We can always go looking for a different spot, but right now, I just want to enjoy the strawberries and your company.”

Dwalin led the way, leaving the road to Dale where he had the last time and walking along a little path through the forest. Light filtered through the fresh green leaves above them, making spots of golden light dance upon the path. They followed a little creek away from the path, climbing over rocks until the creek reached a small clearing.

He had to smile when he saw Thorin’s face light up at the sight of all the strawberry plants covering the clearing. Most of them were still in flower or only had green berries, but Thorin rushed towards the strawberries like a little dwarfling getting its favourite treat, picking whatever ripe berries he could find and plopping them into his mouth as he went.

Dwalin followed suit at a slightly more sedate pace, mostly enjoying Thorin’s joy at no longer needing to study. When Dwalin had eaten his fill, he sat down and leaned against one of the boulders in the clearing, watching as Thorin gathered more of the sweet berries.

Finally, Thorin seemed satisfied as well and sat down next to Dwalin, the warmth from his shoulder seeping into Dwalin’s. He stretched out a hand offering Dwalin a strawberry and Dwalin took one, even though he was bursting full already.

“Thank you,” Thorin whispered. “For the winter strawberries and today. And most of all for sticking with me.”

“There is no way I would ever leave you,” Dwalin said.

Thorin shoved the handful of remaining strawberries into his pocket. Dwalin turned to inquire why, but Thorin grasped his face with both hands and kissed him square onto his lips.

Thorin’s hands were still sticky and his mouth was sweet from the juice of the berries. It was surprising and all the same Dwalin had somehow known it was coming, just not that it would be so soon. The kiss was over almost as soon as it started and left Dwalin longing for another one.

Thorin looked up at Dwalin through his lashes, smiling shyly. Dwalin grinned back, feeling as though he would never stop smiling. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” Dwalin whispered.

Thorin laughed. “I think I might have some idea, the way you’ve been looking at me these past months. It has been quite distracting.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I was trying not to distract you,” Dwalin replied, a wave of guilt washing over him.

“It gave me something to look forward to, so it was quite alright,” Thorin said and Dwalin leaned forward to kiss him again.


	2. Summer

“Uncle Thorin promised I could do all the things big dwarves do!” Kíli protested. “I want to light the campfire!”

Dwalin raised an eyebrow at Thorin. /Did you really?/ he flashed in Iglishmêk.

Thorin shook his head. /No!/ There was a pause. /I might have. Once or twice. Just to get him to do as told./

Dwalin sighed. Small wonder Fíli and Kíli were so reminiscent of goblinspawn if Thorin was completely wrapped around their fingers. No doubt that was why Dís was more than happy to have them off her hands for two weeks while they were off with Thorin and Dwalin to learn some basic wilderness skills. 

“Maybe you could look for firewood instead. Bring back some strawberries or blueberries as well if you find any,” Dwalin suggested.

“Please!” Kíli whined, looking at Dwalin with those big brown eyes. “He promised and I was good. A promise is a promise!”

Dwalin sighed. “Have you lit a campfire before?”

Kíli shook his head. “But that doesn’t matter. Building a campfire is easy! I’ve seen you, Uncle Thorin and Amad do it a thousand times!”

“Alright, show me how you would build a fire. Just how you would stack the materials, we’ll make the actual flames together.”

“Thank you, Mister Dwalin!” Kíli said, hugging Dwalin’s legs. He had started calling Dwalin “Mister Dwalin” some time ago when Dís had pointed out you should address grownups you respect with “Mister”. Dwalin would have been more than happy to be called “Uncle Dwalin” as Fíli called him, but Kíli’s version was heart-warming in its own way and Dwalin knew better than to think it was because Kíli didn’t think of him as family.

Dwalin helped Thorin prepare potatoes, a few herbs and the deer they had shot that day for the meal they would be cooking once the fire was going. While he did so, he could see Kíli carrying sticks, branches and then lug a large piece of wood that might once have been the stump of a tree.

“Do you need any help?” Dwalin asked Kíli as he struggled with that last chunk of wood.

“No, I can manage!” Kíli protested and Dwalin let him be.

Dwalin occasionally glanced over to see how Kíli was doing. He had made a circle of stones around the large stump and then stacked all the big branches on it. Finally, he covered it all in a blanket of twigs and dry grass.

“I’m ready!” Kíli called and Dwalin came over to officially examine the would-be campfire.

“Hm, not bad,” Dwalin concluded after a thorough inspection. “We’ll just need to change a few little things. This big block of wood is perfect for keeping us warm at night, so we should save it until the fire is fully going.”

Kíli nodded.

“In what direction do flames move?” Dwalin asked him.

Kíli wrinkled his brow in thought and then pointed at the sky. “Up.”

“Correct,” Dwalin agreed. “You did a good job in building the fire so it can move from the small things to the big ones, but it will work even better if you start the fire at the bottom so it can move up into the materials that take longer to catch fire.”

“That makes sense,” Kíli said after a moment. “Let’s turn it around.”

Together, they gathered together the grass and twigs and then took the branches off the great block of wood. Dwalin lifted aside the block. 

“You really gathered lots of grass. I don’t think we’ll need quite as much. Just put some of the grass in the middle and then stack the smaller twigs over it as if you were building a hut. Yes, that looks good. And now a few of the smaller branches. We can add more branches once the fire is going. Lets just put them on a stack a little away.”

They worked together and Fíli and Thorin joined them carrying more branches from the nearby forest. 

“That looks good,” Thorin said.

“It does,” Dwalin agreed. “I think we can light it now. For now, I will do it and you can watch, and then you’ll have homework.”

Dwalin nearly laughed as he saw how Kíli’s face fell at the mention of homework. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to do sums or anything like that. You just have to practice lighting a piece of tinder with the fire steel and flint. If you manage to do so, you can start the campfire tomorrow.”

Kíli’s face lit up and Dwalin showed him how to light the tinder. Before long, the fire was crackling and Kíli was sitting beside it, trying to strike the fire steel on the flint at the right angle to get a spark into the tinder.

 

Dinner was simple but good, even though Kíli occasionally had to be reminded that he should wait to continue practicing until they were finished eating.

“Do you want a strawberry, Fíli?” Thorin asked the dwarflings when they were done eating dinner. He held out a slightly squished berry.

Fíli shuddered. “No, those are gross. Do you have to keep them in your pocket?”

“I’ll take one!” Kíli crowed eagerly and snatched it from Thorin’s fingers, then went back to his fire steel and flint. He was drawing smoke and occasional sparks, but so far, the sparks had failed to hit the tinder.

Thorin and Dwalin took Fíli a few steps away to take turns in practicing sword fighting with him. 

“May I start training with a second sword?” Fíli asked as he was parrying Dwalin. “You always say I’m doing well and Kíli is being allowed to do more things now. I’d like to move on too.”

Dwalin exchanged a questioning glance with Thorin and found himself on the ground. Fíli had used the brief moment of distraction to disarm Dwalin and take him down.

“See, I’m good,” Fíli grinned down at him, pointing the wooden practice sword at his chest.

“You certainly are clever at using a distraction to catch someone off guard,” Thorin laughed, coming over to help Dwalin up, who was rubbing the back of his head. “That is a useful skill in battle.”

“I’d say we give it a try tomorrow,” Dwalin said, exchanging another glance with Thorin. “Now get washed and ready for bed, the both of you. I think this is enough for now.”

Fíli cheered and ran off to reach the small stream close to the camp before his brother did.

 

“You know, Fíli does have a point,” Dwalin said when the dwarflings had fallen asleep and his head, still slightly sore from the earlier impact with the ground, was resting in Thorin’s lap. “It isn’t the best of habits to keep strawberries in your pocket. It doesn’t exactly make them fresher.”

“But it makes them taste better and no greedy mouths are going to steal them from me.”

“You could keep them in a box in your pocket,” Dwalin suggested. He knew it wasn’t likely Thorin would change his habit entirely, but at least he could try to improve it. “That way, they wouldn’t get damaged as much.”

“That is what really releases the flavours.” Thorin dangled one above Dwalin’s mouth. “Are you saying you don’t want one? Because I’d be more than happy to eat them all on my own.”

“Oh, don’t you dare!” Dwalin exclaimed, half-sitting up to gulp the strawberry from Thorin’s fingers. 

“I may have licked that one,” Thorin said, mimicking Kíli’s voice.

Dwalin burst into laughter, making Fíli grumble something and turn in his sleep. “You really are trying the cheapest of tricks, aren’t you? Nothing there I haven’t sampled before. Besides, you aren’t my brother, luckily.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t eat it if Balin had licked it?” Thorin asked, grinning.

“Oh, shut it, would you?” Dwalin said, pulling Thorin down for a strawberry-stained kiss.

“Do you remember that clearing with all those strawberries on the slopes of Erebor?” Thorin whispered.

“Mhm. How could I not?” Dwalin said. “I’ll remember that day until the sun stops turning.”

“Do you suppose there is anything left of that clearing? And that we will ever see it again?” Thorin asked.

“I don’t know,” Dwalin replied, not quite liking the direction in which the conversation was headed. “You and I are together. We even have strawberries. Isn’t that enough for now?”

“Mmh. I suppose,” Thorin said, running his fingers over Dwalin’s head. 

And although Dwalin wanted to say more, he felt himself slipping into sleep.


	3. Autumn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel obliged to make this PSA to everybody who has been enjoying the cuteness: *points at other tags* ;)

The planks of the wood were slippery and the mist over the lake made his new clothes feel clammy against his skin. Dwalin was hung-over from the welcome the Men of Lake-Town had given them last night, but to his surprise, he had woken early and sleep evaded him when he tried to simply turn back over. 

Perhaps it was because of the unease the Lake-men’s enthusiasm had planted in his guts. He had learned that during their years on the road: everything you had won could be lost again far too quickly. And so far, they hadn’t even won anything during this quest. The cheers and applause had felt entirely out of place.

Still, it hadn’t been too difficult to drown his anxieties in mead in the warm hall the previous evening and Thorin had clearly thrived under the applause too. Since the wizard had planted the thought of reclaiming Erebor in Thorin’s head during that encounter in Bree, thoughts of heritage and honour had bubbled in Thorin’s head, along with the inevitable guilt that he had not provided for his people as well as he could have.

Before that, life in the Blue Mountains had been enough. The small settlement had been become their home, with its narrow, winding tunnels, the constricted houses and the need to go above ground to get from one part of the town to another. They had seen dwarves fall in love and get married there and watched dwarflings grow from squalling infants to capable dwarves. 

Dwalin hadn’t thought the quest necessary, but Thorin had begun to remember what some might see as his duty. And where Thorin went, Dwalin would follow.

Dwalin shook the thoughts from his head. Pondering instead of doing things always made his thoughts run in circles and turned him morose.

So instead of continuing along the lonely pier, Dwalin turned towards the only sounds he could hear besides the lapping of the waves, muffled as they were by the mist. It was not long before he found himself on a small market. The merchants were only setting up and some stalls were still entirely vacant, but looking at the boxes and wares standing in untidy piles was enough to tear Dwalin from his worries.

The market was not the large market Lake-town had once had in Dwalin’s youth, but perhaps that was because today was a weekday. There were no crafts, weapons or toys, only groceries. Cabbages and carrots were being piled into great heaps, the smell of freshly baked loaves rose from what could only be a bakery and a red tomcat lurked beside a cart of fish. 

There was nothing Dwalin needed to buy since they were being supplied with everything they could wish for. Still, he felt himself drawn to a table on which a market woman was setting glasses upon glasses of preserves and jam.

“Good morning,” Dwalin greeted her, the thought of surprising Thorin with a small gift forming in his head. “Do you have strawberry jam?”

The woman smiled back at him despite his hoarse voice. “Of course. I have strawberry-apple, strawberry-raspberry or just plain strawberry. I also have preserves.”

“I’ll take one glass of plain strawberry jam.”

Dwalin took out his purse. Although their purses were far from holding streams of gold, there was no need to let the people of Lake-town know that. And if their ridiculous excuse of a plan actually worked, it would be of advantage to already be on the good side of some of their neighbours. He handed her a large coin.  
“I trust this will be enough?”

Her eyes widened and she nodded hurriedly.

As Dwalin made his way towards the house where the dwarves were staying, he wrapped the glass into his cloak. He would wait until a special occasion to give it to Thorin.

 

Dwalin stood looking out over the battle field. Battles had recently begun to seem easier than trust or talking. And yet, he wouldn’t be joining this one. It was not this battle that mattered anyway, but the one that had been lost before he even knew there was a battle taking place. 

He stared at the glass of jam in his hands. He no longer why he had bought it, it had been the ridiculous actions of a nostalgic fool. 

He was alone. Thorin was gone, lost to the curse of the gold, to the sickness that had taken his grandfather. And Dwalin hadn’t even noticed before it was too late. By the time he had confronted Thorin, the dwarf he knew was gone. A lifetime spent together, and only a few days to lose all that had grown between them.

It was a curse, Dwalin told himself, a sickness. It wasn’t something Thorin could just break free from just because he wanted to, not even for Dwalin. Still, Thorin’s threats still rung in his ears and he couldn’t help feeling betrayed. 

The glass felt heavier in Dwalin’s hands than it should have. Dwalin contemplated tossing it over the wall. Perhaps, if he threw far enough, he would hit an orc and it would perish in an explosion of glass shards and sticky sweetness. That way, at least one of the vile creatures would die at the hands of this company in a battle they would not be joining. 

Balin had been by, standing by Dwalin’s side and laying a hand on his shoulder. Dwalin had shrugged it off, just as he had done with Balin’s attempts of conversation. Balin had left him alone and gone downstairs where the remaining company was gathered to watch the battle. 

No doubt they were yearning to go and help Dáin and the dwarves from the Iron Hills. Dwalin himself had considered finding a rope and lowering himself over the wall. After all, Thorin had told him in no uncertain terms that he no longer required Dwalin’s services. Love hadn’t even been mentioned.

 

Fíli and Kíli tried to rope him into their schemes.

Kíli had half a dozen half-cooked ideas, ranging from using catapults (which they would have to build first) from the walls, over faking his beheading to prod Thorin into action, to imprisoning Thorin and marching off to war without him.

Fíli only had one scheme. “We declare Thorin unfit to rule,” he whispered unhappily. “I take the crown in his stead, only temporarily, of course, until he regains his senses. And then we join forces with Dáin. If you and Balin express your support, the others will be sure to follow.”

“You take the crown?” Dwalin asked angrily. “And then what? Follow in his footsteps and start stroking gold? You are not touching that crown, or a single other piece of gold from that hoard! Neither of you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mister Dwalin,” Kíli said and Fíli nodded with his head hanging.

“And I am not going into battle, not if Thorin isn’t leading the way,” Dwalin declared, his mind about the matter suddenly made up.

They had left too and Dwalin returned to watching the battle, wave after grey wave of orcs sweeping towards the men defending what had once been Dale and towards the armies of dwarves and elves.

He would not throw the glass of jam in the vain hopes of hitting an orc. Instead he opened it and took out a spoon. He might as well eat it all, not enjoying a single bite of it and suffering the stomach ache for it.

Dwalin dipped the spoon into the glass and brought it to his mouth. It was too sweet and nauseatingly sticky, clinging to the top of his mouth. 

“May I have some too?” a voice asked behind him.

Dwalin thrust the glass at Thorin without looking at him. “You can have all of it. I don’t want it.”

“I’d only like a spoonful. Going into battle with an over-full stomach is never a good idea,” Thorin replied, not taking it just yet.

“Into battle?” Dwalin asked, spinning around.

Thorin was clad in the cloak Bard had given him. His sword hung at his side and no crown or helmet sat upon his head. 

“Into battle.”

Dwalin never was sure who moved first, but the hug that followed was more desperate than any before.

“Thorin.”

“I am so sorry,” Thorin whispered. “The things I said to you...”

“You were not yourself. What matters is that you are here now.”

Slowly, they stopped clutching each other, though they still grasped each other’s shoulders.

“You are not clad for battle,” Dwalin said slowly. “We need to find you a helmet. There has to be a plain helmet somewhere.”

Thorin shook his head. “Look at the battle,” he gestured towards the slowly dwindling dwarven troops, becoming more and more encircled by orcs. “We are thirteen dwarves. A helmet will make no difference in the outcome, not in the end.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long time. Finally Dwalin nodded.

“Where did you manage to get this jam?” Thorin asked.

“I bought it in Lake-town, to celebrate our victory if our fool’s plan actually worked,” Dwalin said, grinning wryly.

“May I?” Thorin asked.

Dwalin handed him the glass and the spoon. Thorin took a small mouthful before handing the spoon back to Dwalin, who also took one. This time, it was one of the best things Dwalin had ever tasted.

“It is just like back when we were children,” Thorin marvelled. “It tastes exactly like it used to.”

“They must still put in that additional ingredient,” Dwalin said. 

“Rhubarb juice.”

“Lime.”

They broke into giggles at their old childhood argument. 

“We should go,” Thorin said finally. “Dáin needs our help.”

For a long moment, they stood motionlessly, holding each other, their foreheads pressed together.


	4. Winter

The morning bell tolled and Dwalin rolled over in bed. Thorin’s warmth beside him was welcome as he could feel the cold air trying to seep in under the edges of the blanket. Dwalin had become sensitive against the cold in his old age, but he supposed a few comforts were allowed after the hardships he had endured in his life. 

Thorin turned around as Dwalin shifted closer to him. His ice-blue eyes had turned lighter with the years and his hair was now as white as the snow that lay upon the mountain. The wrinkles had softened his face and a smile often graced it these days. Retirement suited Thorin.

And Dwalin was glad to have him around more after they had often barely seen each other when Thorin had been king. Now, they mostly spent their days pottering about the apartment together. Dwalin’s bad leg, which had forced him into early retirement, made it difficult for him to leave their home and Thorin was happy to no longer have to deal with too many people and their problems. Visitors were rare since Balin had left for Moria, taking Ori with him. They were dead, even though nobody else wanted to believe it. 

Since then, Dwalin’s niece Mírdis and her children were usually the only ones to visit them, when she found the time between caring for the children and her official tasks as Balin’s heir. Thorin usually left them alone to talk, working on one project or the other in the forge.

Fíli and Kíli rarely came to visit. Dwalin supposed Fíli was busy ruling the kingdom. He didn’t follow politics anymore. They had never interested him that much and now that he could, he just ignored them. Kíli was probably off chasing elves. The thought sent a shudder down Dwalin’s spine. Surely, Kíli’s attraction to those unnatural creatures would one day lead to tears and bloodshed.

“Are you cold again?” Thorin asked him, shifting closer.

“A bit,” Dwalin admitted.

“That poses us with a slight problem,” Thorin said. “It’s breakfast time but knowing you, you probably don’t want to leave the warmth of the bed, do you?”

“Hmh.”

“How about I just bring breakfast over here? What would you like? Bread with strawberry jam?”

Dwalin wrinkled his forehead. “You know strawberries no longer agree with my stomach. I’d prefer honey instead.”

“Oh, of course. I keep forgetting that,” Thorin said and got up.

That was when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Dwalin groaned, remembering Thorin’s dislike of answering the door.

He got up, put a cloak over his sleeping clothes and hobbled to the door with his stick. The guest wasn’t anyone he would have expected.

“Gloin, my old friend! How is little Gimli?”

“I _am_ Gimli, don’t you remember, Dwalin?”

“Of course, of course! You are just so similar to your father, and I’ve never been good at names. How was your little trip to the elves? When did you get back?”

Dwalin took a good look at Gimli. He seemed to be well and healthy despite the long travels and the words of war that had even reached Dwalin. 

“I returned yesterday evening. The elves weren’t too bad, actually. I met Bilbo’s nephew in Rivendell and he might be even braver than his uncle. The things he managed on our adventure…”

Dwalin chuckled. “Those hobbits are getting far too adventurous for their own good. Kíli went with you, didn’t he? Did you manage to keep him from getting too close with any elves? His attraction to them is going to get him killed one day.”

Gimli’s smile froze and for a moment, Dwalin’s thoughts jumped to that nightmare he often had. Kíli jumping to an elf’s defence, the swish of a blade, red blood splattering on the snow. And Dwalin could never reach him in time.

“He didn’t get too close to any elves, no.”

The way Gimli said it made Dwalin scrutinise him. Gimli was rubbing the side of his beard and was that a hint of red creeping onto his cheeks?

“They aren’t all bad, you know,” Gimli mumbled.

“Wait... you aren’t...” Dwalin burst into laughter. “You fell for one of those elves too! Just wait until the others hear that!”

Dwalin turned around and saw that Thorin had joined them. “Did you hear that? Wee Gimli here is an elf-fancier too!”

“Mahal, what have we done to deserve this?” Thorin groaned. “As if one isn’t bad enough! Whatever has happened to the honourable line of Durin?”

“Oh, I’m sure the elf is perfectly honourable, right Gimli?” Dwalin said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“As a matter of fact, Legolas is,” Gimli said indignantly.

“Legolas? Of Mirkwood?” Dwalin asked. 

“Yes. He is a wonderful companion and not all elves are as horrible as you think they are.”

“I’m not listening to this,” Thorin grumbled, grabbed a glass of strawberry preserves and strode off.

Dwalin laughed and turned back to Gimli. “Don’t mind the old grump. Just...” He paused, thinking of his dreams again, “don’t let yourself get hurt for an elf. Whatever you think, they aren’t worth it. Promise me that.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t throw myself in harm’s way for Legolas. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself,” Gimli laughed.

“Why don’t you come in and tell us your story over breakfast. Just don’t mention your elf too often and Thorin will happy to have you join us, even though he probably won’t admit it.”

Gimli looked astonished. “The king is here?”

It was Dwalin’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Fíli? That scamp hasn’t visited in quite a while. No, it’s only me and Thorin here.”

“Actually... I think... I actually only wanted to say hello to you and let you know I’m back,” Gimli said hastily. “I still have to say hello to the others. It was nice seeing you, Dwalin.”

“Be sure to come by again, Gimli!” Dwalin said. “I never thought I would ever say this, but it is nice to have visitors every once and again.”

“I will,” Gimli replied, not quite able to meet Dwalin’s eyes.

 

Gimli kept his word and returned. In fact, he did so rather sooner than Dwalin had expected. Dwalin had barely set up the kettle for afternoon tea and told Thorin to take his feet off the table when the doorbell rang again.

This time, it was not only Gimli standing on the doorstep, but Mírdis and a middle-aged woman as well. 

“Do come in! I’ve just put the kettle on for some tea,” Dwalin said, ushering them towards the sitting room and suddenly feeling rather like a hobbit doing so. “Didn’t you bring the children along?” 

“I’m afraid I couldn’t today,” Mírdis said and Dwalin noticed there were dark rings beneath her eyes.

“What’s wrong, Mírdis? Have you been crying?”

She looked at the other woman as they all took a seat. Thorin looked up at them from the book he was reading in his armchair and merely nodded a greeting.

“I’m afraid today has just been rather stressful for her. I’m Healer Gudni, by the way, you might remember me...”

“You tried to treat my leg, yes,” Dwalin said, suddenly remembering. He turned back to Mírdis. “What happened?”

She swallowed and looked at Gudni again and the coin dropped for Dwalin.

“Oh. There was bad news from Khazad-Dûm, wasn’t there? That was the reason for going to see the elves. Balin is dead and so are all the others. I am so sorry, Mírdis.” Dwalin reached to clasp her hand in his. “I wish I could have stopped your father from going. If there is anything I can do for you, let me know.”

Mírdis was trying to blink back her tears. “Thank you. How did you know? Gimli said he decided not to tell you yet when...” she trailed off.

Dwalin shook his head sadly. “I knew as soon as the letters stopped coming. I knew the expedition wouldn’t end well. Such things never do...” A sudden cold dread settled in his stomach, almost like the sick feeling he got whenever he ate strawberries. Dwalin looked over at Thorin who smiled at him reassuringly and the sense of dread lessened slightly.

“So you remember Balin going to reclaim Khazad-Dûm?” Gudni asked.

“Of course I do. I tried to stop him, to convince him otherwise, but he had already talked Dáin into giving his permission...” Dwalin trailed off, trying to remember what Dáin had had to do with this. He had probably helped fund the expedition, Dwalin decided.

“And... did you talk to Thorin about this? What did he say about it?” Gudni asked strangely carefully. Dwalin could see Mírdis and Gimli watch him apprehensively.

“I suppose so. Why wouldn’t I talk to him about it?” Dwalin said, wondering why he couldn’t quite recall these conversations. “We did talk about it, didn’t we?” Dwalin asked Thorin. Thorin gave a brief shrug and buried his face into his book again.

Dwalin looked back at his guests. Tears were starting to stream down Mírdis face as she clutched his hand and Gimli looked completely uncomfortable.

Dwalin felt a lump rise in his throat. “I know I should have tried harder to stop Balin from going to Khazad-Dûm. I did try, but you know how determined he was to go.”

“I don’t think anyone is blaming you, Dwalin,” Gudni said softly. “Could you perhaps tell us about how Erebor was rebuilt after the dragon?”

It was a strange question, Dwalin thought, but if it in any way helped make things better, he would talk about it. “We couldn’t start rebuilding it as soon as we would have liked,” Dwalin said. “We had to clear the battle field first. And then the gates we had built for the siege had to be torn down again to make transporting building material and food easier. Dáin gave the order to...”

Why had Dáin given the order? Thorin had been the king, why hadn’t he been commanding them? Had it been because of the gold sickness? No, Thorin had won the fight against it. He had been injured, yes, that was it. There was that horrible cut to his foot, more bruises than any of them could count and another injury... that one to the lung. The one that....

For a moment, Dwalin’s world went black.

When it came back, Dwalin’s eyes were drawn to Thorin’s armchair. He already knew it was in vain. Thorin was gone. 

“He’s dead,” Dwalin choked out. “I knew, but I forgot...”

Mírdis had her arms around him, but he barely noticed them.

“I need to ask you a few more questions, Dwalin... Can you tell me...” 

Thorin was dead and he had _forgotten_ his death. Fíli and Kíli too, their bright little lads.

“I need to...” Dwalin stood up, clutching his stick. His leg, despicable thing that it was, wobbled and gave out. Many hands guided him back to his chair.

“Stay seated for a moment more,” someone’s voice said.

“I’ll get you a mug of water,” Gimli’s voice added and Dwalin nearly scoffed. Here he was, being offered _water_ and unable to stand on his own.

And Thorin was dead. Thorin’s white hair, softer than silk, his happy wrinkles when he smiled and the blue of his eyes softening with age - none of that had been real. The lazy mornings in bed, the kisses at night, those soft words spoken between them....

“...can’t determine the cause quite yet...”

“...shouldn’t... not now...”

“... can stay with us for a while...”

Snatches of voices, soft but unmerciful, reached his ears, meaningless. Somebody pressed a mug into his hands.

Thorin was gone. Dead and buried over sixty years ago, but it felt as if no time at all had passed since then. Thorin was dead.

Dwalin closed his eyes. If he was completely motionless, he could still feel Thorin massaging his forehead, the faint scent of strawberries clinging to him.


End file.
